Blisters
by WaggleDaggers
Summary: The battlefield is a brutal and unforgiving place; sometimes your life demands another's death. Flayn learns this the hard way.


Dorothea heard crying nearby. It was a brisk night, and she walked the monastery in her nightgown for she could not sleep. Fear of her certification exam the next morning pounded at the sides of her head. The Professor had nodded in his stern way. "You will make a great dancer Dorothea. Your exam will be Thursday." And that was it. He had accepted none of her objections or excuses. He was right, of course, she would be a great dancer. A supporter on the battlefield. That would be a nice change of pace. Her fingers shook. Whether it was anxiety or the thundershivers, she couldn't tell. Magic: more double-edged than any sword.

The crying began again. It was stifled, but Dorothea's trained ears could not be so easily deceived. It was coming from a nearby room. Flayn's room. _Today was her first day on a real battlefield… _Dorothea thought dimly. Suddenly she felt small and stupid. A magic warrior, master of lightning, scared for an exam? She had killed countless people, and Flayn had only slain one.

Dorothea had been there, a few hundred yards away. She still heard the scream. She heard every scream. It was a simple operation. A group of pirates, predators. A reward, promised by their prey. The students went, killed, and dusted off their hands afterwards. But during the fight, a tiny tactical slip had allowed an axe-wielding maniac through the vanguard, through the bulwark, and into the support line. Linhardt should have been there, but he was busy helping the Professor. Only Flayn was there. Little Flayn, with her bouncing hair and white magic at the ready. The axe came down and bit Flayn in the thigh. She was utterly, horribly silent as the blood soaked her stocking and dribbled into her shoe. Adrenaline fueled her body. A lance, a _steel_ lance built for a warrior, not a little medic, hung above the earth, supported by two shaking hands and the innards of a man's body. She had killed him in one strike; As if she had done it a hundred times before. The only giveaway was the tears running down her cheeks. The man screamed like an animal as he died. Dorothea was on a hillside, overlooking most of the field. An optimal place for a magic mortar gun like her. She knew the Professor. He did not make tiny tactical slips. It had been carefully orchestrated. A single warrior, weakened by archer-fire was to break through the line. The professor was to take a hit, so as to distract the other medic on the field. A test of Flayn's martial prowess.

To force a little girl to kill a man like that, just to see if she would really do it. It made Dorothea sick. She found herself crying as she struck down the last of the pirates, body shaking with the angry strain on her magic veins. Ferdinand was worried. She told him it was just the shivers.

No one said anything. They packed their things, held a debrief, and returned to Garreg Mach as if nothing had happened. Now Dorothea heard the crying, and stepped up to the girl's door. She stood under the awning for a cold moment, chilled by the wind and shade.

She knocked.

The crying stopped immediately. There was no sound except for the breeze and Dorothea's own heartbeat. She finally spoke. "Flayn? Dear? May I come in?"

Another agonizing silence. "Yes. It's unlocked." Flayn said, words lost in the dark. She drew in a breath sharply after speaking, as if the effort had required all the voice she could muster.

Dorothea opened the door. Flayn's room was lit by only one candle, a single champion to bring yellowness into the sea of blues and black. It was a precisely organized room, bookshelf dusted and filled, chair pushed symmetrically under the desk. Curtains drawn to a perfect one-inch overlap. Only the bed harbored imperfections. Flayn sat on it like it was a ship, legs dangling into the frigid water. The bed was spotted with blood.

Dorothea slowly stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. She slipped off her shoes and aligned them nicely next to Flayn's. The rug felt foreign and grotesque under her feet, and it made her think about the curled guts that roil inside men's bodies. She blinked to clear the thought.

"Is everything alright?" Dorothea asked. Of course it wasn't. They both knew that. Yet Flayn remained silent. Her only response was a near-imperceptible movement, one that indicated she had intentionally left enough room for Dorothea to sit beside her on her bed. Dorothea sat and looked at Flayn. The little girl was shaking, hands clutching her knees, and a fresh tear would occasionally reassert the downward slope of her cheeks, as if seeking to erode her body away, valley by valley until nothing was left to feel sorrow.

Dorothea looked at the spots of blood on the bed. They matched similar spots on Flayn's nightgown.

"Darling, are you bleeding?" Dorothea said, placing her hand on Flayn's.

Again the other girl did not speak, she simply overturned her uncomforted hand. Dorothea gasped; It was covered in blisters and cuts. Flayn's hand looked as though she had rubbed it raw against a forge anvil. Blood dripped slowly from some of the open sores, while the others stared upwards, red and angry in the pale light.

"I was practicing." Flayn said, turning her hand back over to rub yet another tear from her cheek. It left a streak of blood under her eye. "I… I hesitated during the battle so I… Need to make sure it doesn't happen next… time…"

Dorothea could almost feel Flayn's diaphragm contracting next to her, trying in vain to hold back the audible breaths. Flayn squeezed her knee harder as more tears and staccato gasps fought for control of her voice.

Dorothea put her arm around Flayn and pulled her close. Flayn's head rested on Dorothea's shoulder and she stopped resisting. Sobs soaked through Dorothea's pajamas until she could feel the hot tears running down her chest. As Flayn cried into her, Dorothea began to cry, remembering innocence. Feeling the dull ache of loss. Her hands did not shake.

Flayn's crying began to slow, but she left her head buried into Dorothea's shoulder.

"Dorothea… Have you ever," A sniffle interrupted Flayn's question. She waited a moment before continuing. "Have you ever killed someone? I mean, with your hands. Without magic." Dorothea heard rain begin to patter outside."

Dorothea sat for a moment. "Flayn," She asked, "Have you ever heard the story of the Hero-King Marth?"

Flayn sniffled again before answering. "Yes. It's an opera isn't it? I thought that was all fiction."

Dorothea began to gently scratch Flayn's back. "It is fiction. But it's a grand fiction. I performed in it once, when I was just sixteen. I sang Alto in the chorus. The pieces were so difficult, I swear I had to sing them in my sleep just to get enough practice. And I was so nervous, performing for nobility every night. Anyway, it was so successful, my company decided to produce the sequel as well. This second time I got a lead role!" Dorothea chuckled. "I played one of the Hero-King's descendants, a beautiful and brave girl named Lucina. She's still my favorite character I've ever played. She's everything I wanted to be: smart, strong, charismatic. They say she bore a crest so powerful that even kings couldn't tell her what to do. Well, part of my training to play her was learning staged swordplay. We started with sticks, then used dull rods, and eventually we used real swords. The other actors and I were so careful, and so precise with our movements that no one got a scratch on them. Not once. A lot happened, and I decided to leave opera. I came to the academy, and they were impressed with my magic, but each student must be assigned a physical weapon. I showed Professor Alois and Professor Seteth my swordplay routine. Seteth said I could never actually fight like that, but my precision and balance were perfect. They requisitioned me a sword."

"A sword?" Flayn asked, eyes wide. It was the first time she had looked at Dorothea all night. Rain rain in tiny rivers down the window.

"A sword. Nasty, heavy thing. I remember, we were on a mission, climbing a tower, trying to reclaim a hero's relic. The sword was starting to get really heavy on my hip, but Ferdinand wouldn't let me drop it. Your magic may burn out! He told me. How will you defend yourself then?" She said, sitting up straighter and lowering her voice comically to impersonate Ferdinand. Flayn giggled. "So I kept it. Ferdie was right, again. The lightning stopped coming. I felt it go to sleep inside me. I stayed in the middle of the formation, but there were too many. A guy came at me with an axe and I… I just…" Dorothea made a stabbing motion with her free hand.

"Did he scream?" Flayn asked, pulling herself away from Dorothea and wiping her cheeks again. The blood came off on her sleeve.

"Yeah, he screamed." Dorothea answered.

"Was it better the next time?"

Dorothea let out a long sigh. "That's the scariest part. You hardly think about it the second time."

Flayn looked at Dorothea. They locked eyes. Flayn set her jaw, and nodded.

"Just think about it this way Flayn, it's either us or them. And I'll be damned by the Goddess if I let them mess up your pretty face."

Flayn giggled again, and when she smiled, her tears were dry. They sat on the bed together for many more moments, watching the candle flame play with the streaks of water running down the windowglass. A dance of light and rain.


End file.
